


to do the right thing (outtakes, drabbles, and alternate endings)

by Eleanor_Lambb



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, More Chapters to Be Added, check chapter notes for specific tags and summaries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleanor_Lambb/pseuds/Eleanor_Lambb
Summary: Deleted scenes and chapters ofTo Do The Right Thing





	1. miles+waylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: explicit content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Sexual Content (Grinding, handjobs) - set in the beginning of Chapter 27: Rain
> 
> hi :) ok so i asked on my last chapter of "To Do The Right Thing" if people wanted me to post any outtakes or alternate chapters, and people seemed to like that, so im posting those here! Unfortunately, to completely understand the context of everything, you will need to read "To Do The Right Thing." Sorry :(
> 
> originally, i was going to have Waylon and Miles have a sexual experience way earlier, but decided against it because it wouldnt make much sense, so I scrapped it very early on. I only wrote a few hundred words before i scrapped it, but i had the idea still in my head, so this was a quick finish.
> 
> enjoy :)

_**His fists tight, Waylon pounds his hands on the rusted, white door. He's trapped, in a small five - by - five room, walls white, a bare white bed pressed against the wall. Through the slat of a flat door, Waylon can see the long hallway on the other side, walls bare and a faded white. He can hear screaming echo through the hallway, the distant sounds of wet slapping and the tearing of meat. Waylon tries to yell, but the sound doesn't escape him.** _

_**A flicker, and a pair of beady white eyes stare at him through the slat. Waylon jerks away, recoiling and tripping over the bed. There's a groan of metal, the door denting inward. Waylon braces himself against the wall, arms covering his head as the door was ripped out of the wall, crashing into the hallway.** _

_**" This way," calls a voice, gentle and echoing. Billy? What are you doing here?** _

_**Don't leave this room. Don't leave this room.** _

_**Waylon, carefully, steps off the bed, peeking into the open hallway. The doorway is jagged, the crumpled corpse of the door flung against the hallway wall. Looking to his left, shadows hide the hallway. It radiates coldness. Looking to his right, the hallway is endless. Waylon carefully steps onto the carpeted floor. He looks down at himself.** _

_**He's stark naked, gash after gash cut into his tan skin. The cuts cross his thighs, up his stomach and chest. Waylon stretches his arms, seeing red cuts cover his skin. Lacking blood, the gashes expose the red muscle underneath his skin. He can see the meat writhe.** _

_**" Over here," Billy calls from the right.** _

_**Where are you? I can't see you.** _

_**Waylon stops inspecting himself to follow the sound.** _

_**Waylon walks....and walks...and walks.....** _

_**Until a break in the hallway stops him in his tracks. The hallway splits off at a two - way intersection, a hanging light dangling in the middle. A ghostly laugh breaks the air.** _

_**From the right of the intersection, a figure stumbles into view. His skin is greying, decaying, skin broken with wounds that seeped sickly - looking blood. In a dripping hand, he held a knife. The man had sandy hair that was matted and pushed back from his face, pale eyes dilated.** _

_**"** come here **, " the fake Waylon grunts, hand flexing around the knife.**_

_**Waylon steps back.** _

_**A pair of warm hands gently grab his shoulders.** _

_**"I've got you," Miles' voice says, a deep rumble. Miles' thumbs dig gently into Waylon's shoulder blades, rolling the tense muscle there.** _

_**The hallway, the twisted Waylon, the coldness, melts away, and warmth encases Waylon's body. The walls disappear, leaving behind the carpet, and the hanging lights. The lights dance around him, pinks and oranges and yellows and he feels himself be pulled back by his shoulders. He allows himself to be held against Miles' chest. Miles' hands roam over Waylon's chest, the scars and cuts disappearing where he touches.** _

_**"I've got you. I've got you," Miles breathes. His hands go lower.** _

Waylon wakes up.

Waylon's hands and legs are curled into his chest, in his usual _sleeping ball,_ as Lisa called it. The thin curtains let morning light slip through, the beams stretching against the painted walls, reflecting off of the framed paintings. Waylon blinks once, twice, before he realizes the sturdy warmth pressed against his back.

Miles' arms are wrapped around Waylon's torso, his cheek pressed against the back of Waylon's neck. His breathing is slow, wrapped up in a deep sleep. Hips flush against Waylon's backside, Miles shifts slightly. Waylon's feels his cock twitch in his boxers.

_Hell....Hell, Merry Hell._

Waylon should get up, push Miles away, wake him up.

But he needs it - _him_. Anything, _anything_ , to make Waylon forget about his dreams, his experiences, the stress of being alive. He needs something to get lost in. That something just happened to be names Miles Upshur.

_You're selfish. You're so fucking selfish._

Waylon pushes his hips back. His heart races when he hears Miles sigh, hold him tighter. Miles' face buries itself in the space where Waylon's shoulder met neck.

 _You're sick. You're sick_ , a voice keeps screaming at him. But Waylon could care less about some disembodied yelling. That was at the bottom of his priority list.

"Well, good morning to you too," Miles grumbles, his breath hot.

Warmth spurring through his body, Waylon laces one hand with one of Miles' on his chest. He rolls his hips back again.

"Shit, Park, this is some wake up call. What's gotten into you?" The hint of worry in Miles' voice burns, irritating Waylon.

Instead of answering, Waylon rocks back, gasping slightly when he feels Miles' prick twitch.

Miles' free hand rubs along Waylon's thigh, "You sure you want to?"

Waylon nods, grabbing Miles' wrist. He attempts to pull, but Miles' hand doesn't budge.

"Wanna hear you say it," Miles says, not moving.

Waylon swallows, "I want to."

With a searing kiss to the nape of his neck, Miles moves his hand off Waylon's thigh to grab at his groin. Waylon's hips jerk into Miles' hand.

"Easy, I got you," Miles breathes, teeth scraping Waylon's skin.

Waylon doesn't bother biting any noise back as Miles strokes him through his underwear. Miles' body is hot, cock rigid as it rubs into Waylon's backside.

The world around him spins, and Waylon finds himself staring up at the ceiling. Miles had grabbed Waylon by his torso, twisting over so Waylon was laying on top of him, Waylon's back on his chest, the stiffness in his briefs poking into Waylon's backside. His hand dipping under the waistband of Waylon's underwear, Miles moves his legs so one knee sits between Waylon's.

 _He doesn't waste any time, that's for sure,_ Waylon thinks to himself. Miles' touch is warm and wanted. He grips Waylon's cock, a loud moan ripping from Waylon's throat. If any neighboring rooms can hear them, Waylon doesn't give a _fuck_.

"That's it, Park, sing for me," Miles rumbles, kissing the back of his neck. Waylon switches between pushing into Miles' hand, to rubbing his hips back against him.

The exposed bone of Miles' index finger is odd on Waylon's prick, spurring a tight moan from Waylon. Waylon hooks his thumbs into the band of his underwear, pulling them down. He melts seeing Miles' hand pull at his cock, smooth bone unnaturally protruding from Miles' olive - skinned hand. Miles slows down enough so Waylon can weakly kick himself out of his underwear.

Just when Waylon thinks Miles' is going to start stroking him again, Miles releases his cock, and the world spins a second time. Waylon finds himself on his belly, Miles' weight on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. Miles kisses down Waylon's back, down Waylon's spine, going lower.

It's been years since Waylon had relished in the touch of another man. _And, Merry Hell, I've missed it_. Miles' stubble scratches pleasantly on the back of Waylon's thighs, breath hot on Waylon's skin. He sucks a mark on Waylon's backside. Waylon's back arches into his mouth, and Waylon winces as pain shoots up his leg, accidentally flinching away from Miles.

"What's wrong?" Miles asks, his voice nothing more than a husky rumble.

"Fuck, it's my leg - " Waylon doesn't get to finish his sentence, as Miles had grabbed his hips, and he's quickly flipped again, this time onto his back. The pain in his leg subsides.

Miles is looming over him, looking a mess, his hair sticking at strange angles, eyes blown. _God, he's so handsome._

"Better?" Miles asks, settling between Waylon's legs. Miles' shirt is hiked up over his gut, Waylon's eyes are fixed on the dark happy trail on Miles' stomach as he pulls his underwear down.

Miles' cock is fully erect, leaking at the tip, flushed. Next to Waylon's, Miles' cock is a bit shorter, but with more girth. Waylon bites his bottom lip, body shaking with excitement.

Waylon quickly sits up, almost frantically grabbing Miles by the front of his tank and pulling him down into a kiss, " _Much_ better."

Their stubble catches, and Waylon finds that he doesn't mind the sour tang of sleep in Miles' mouth. His hands thread through Miles' black hair, Miles groaning into his mouth. He moves his hands down Miles' back, feeling the raised scars there, muscles flexing and tensing where Waylon's fingers went. Miles presses forward, both their cocks rubbing together.

Waylon listens as Miles lets out every swear in the book, gripping their dicks together, trying to stay grounded as Miles pumps his hand, almost frantic. Miles ducks his head into the crook of Waylon's neck, kissing and sucking wherever his lips touch. _He'll leave marks....fuck me, I hope he does_. Waylon bucks his hips with Miles, meeting each stroke of their cocks, the heat of Miles' body engulfing Waylon's senses.

"Fuck, Park, _fuck_ ," Miles growls into Waylon's neck, hand jerking faster. His grip has turned almost painfully tight, and Waylon's nails dig into Miles' shoulder blades.

With everything being so overwhelming, sensation overtaking cognitive thought, Waylon can barely groan out a response. He feels his gut tighten, feet digging into the mattress.

Miles shudders, an extraordinarily loud moan shaking the room. Waylon looks between their bellies to see flecks of cum spurt from Miles' twitching cock. It's enough for the warmth in Waylon's gut to bloom, and he comes with a shaky moan that Miles immediately claims in a rough, mindless kiss. His mind whites out. Hot wetness spots his skin, and he grips hard at the roots of Miles' hair.

Miles collapses on top of Waylon, heavy and spent. Waylon loves the weight of him, lost in a bliss.

He doesn't how long they laid there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling Miles rise and fall with his breaths. Eventually, Miles sits up on his palms, still between Waylon's legs. Waylon looks down to see their stomachs and soft cocks covered in fluids.

"So," he starts, voice rough, "You OK?"

 _More than OK_ , Waylon wants to say, but he doesn't have the energy to speak, so he nods silently, and pulls Miles back down. He feels Miles resist against his pull, hesitate. Before Waylon can process it, Miles brushes aside whatever he's feeling, letting himself be pulled down.

Waylon refuses to let his mind wander anywhere else that isn't in this motel room with Miles.


	2. Billy+Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Explicit and sexual content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, like WAY in the beginning, I played with the idea of Billy and Miles being lovers. However, I was worried about it causing way too much internal conflict, and would kinda water down the strong bond between Miles and Billy, so I scrapped it
> 
> This wasn't written to take place anywhere specific, just like freeform I played with
> 
> enjoy ty for reasing :)

Miles jumps awake, gasping and choking. He can still feel Walker's hands on his throat, feels the glass buried in his back. He sits up, eyes darting around. Car headlights pass by the windows, lighting the room. It's empty. He looks over to his left, and Waylon is sound asleep. Miles breathes heavy, rubbing his hands over his face.

He hunches over, head between his knees. He yells. Yells at himself for being so paranoid. It's an angry yell, every frustration and tension escaping in the roughness of his voice. It lasts for an eternity, endless noise until Miles' throat burns with use. He gasps, sucking in air like he's been underwater for his entire life. A bang on the wall opposite yells for him to shut up. He looks up. Waylon hasn't stirred. Miles thinks him dead for a second, until he sees his chest softly rise and fall.

He picks up the motel clock on the nightstand, seeing red numbers blink at 1:23. He pulls the sheets off his legs, standing from the bed to check the motel door and windows. They're locked. Miles checks again. They're locked. He checks again.

"They're locked."

Miles pretends he didn't hear Billy. He checks the door and windows, crossing between the two. They're locked.

"Upshur?"

He checks the door and windows. They're locked.

He feels a brush against the small of his back. He twists around, ready to swing. Billy is standing behind him, unflinching. Blood pounding, he balls his fists, holding his arms at his sides.

"Don't _do_ that," he keeps his voice low and steady.

"You wouldn't hurt me, Upshur."

Miles turns to check the locks again. He feels Billy brush on his biceps.

"They're locked, Upshur, it's alright. Come back to bed," Smoke curls up his arms, touches his chest and fingers, "It's alright. I'll protect you."

Miles laughs. It's loud and sad and ever so broken. He closes his eyes, letting Billy guide him back to the bed. He feels light hands on his chest push him down, and Miles lays longways. A heavy weight sits on his hips. He opens his eyes.

Billy's expression is almost unreadable, black eyes wide. He drags his fingertips, light and gentle, down Miles' chest, catching his light t - shirt. Miles feels his dick twitch in his pajama pants.

"I don't want to go to sleep again."

Billy nods in understanding. Miles' eyes trail down to between Billy's legs, seeing Billy's half - hardness bounce against his stomach. Miles finds his hands have roamed up Billy's thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles into the dips where leg meets torso.

Billy gives an almost curious roll of his hips. Miles grunts, trying to keep his fingers from digging into Billy's mottled flesh.

"I love you, Miles."

Miles sits up, arms encasing Billy's lithe form. He kisses on Billy's collarbone _. Say you love him_ , something in his brain says, _say it back to him. He's done so much for you._

Miles is selfish. For his whole life, he's had to be. He can't make himself say it.

He looks over to Waylon, sleeping soundly in his bed, face covered by a scarred arm. Looking at the bedside table, he remembers the sleeping pills and cup of water.

"He took more than he usually does. He'll be out until late morning," Billy runs his hand through Miles' hair.

"Good," Miles pushes himself from Billy, shoving his shirt off. He pulls Billy back into his chest, leaning back. Billy's skin is hot and warm, different from the cold spots he leaves behind. Miles kisses Billy's jaw, grabbing his hips. He ruts upward, tongue tracing the dip in Billy's collarbone.

Smoke curls up Miles' body, feeling it roam under his pants, rustle in his hair. The smoke yanks Miles' pants down to his knees, Miles gasping at the air that hits his cock. Billy sits up, pulling away from Miles' chest. He lines their hips together, cocks brushing. Miles sighs, hands roaming over Billy's chest. Miles thumbs at the soft spots on Billy's pecs, hearing him sigh in response.

"That's good, Billy, that's good," Miles says, hips bucking up as Billy grinds their cocks together. Miles traces the circular scars on Billy's midsection, watching Billy's long hair fall over his shoulders.

"You're doing so well," Miles' voice is deep with praise, watching Billy's eyes close. His dark teeth bite at his lips.

Billy's hand is too small to comfortably stroke both cocks together, so he settles for rolling over their heads. Miles ignores the pressure and warmth building in his gut to gently nudge Billy's hand away.

"I've got you," he says, spitting into his slightly - larger hand, gripping both of their cocks loosely.

Billy's hips jerk, "I was - " his sentence breaks off with a groan when Miles thumbs at the head of his cock, pushing slightly into the tip, smearing white fluid.

Miles knows he isn't going to last very long, not while staring at Billy. Billy is gorgeous, by all accounts. If Miles hadn't known him, he would have guessed Billy's graying skin and hollow eyes had belonged to an angel.

 _That's what he is,_ Miles thinks to himself, _a fuckin' fallen angel, here to guide me through life._

Miles brings his free hand up to brush Billy's hair out of his face, tucking the long locks behind his ear.

"Upsh - Miles, please," Billy begs, hips meeting Miles' strokes. His hands are holding the sheets beside him, back arched, his lips parted into an O.

"It's alright Billy, c'mon, you're doing so well."

Billy's long lashes flutter over his eyes, and Miles could see pinpricks of white in the hollow blackness. His chest rises and falls, Miles seeing a sheer layer of white cover his body. The smoke wisps stretch behind, almost giving Billy the appearance of black wings.

"That's it," Miles continues as Billy's thrusts pick up, "You've been so quiet."

Billy breathes a laugh, "I can't help it," Miles can barely hear his voice.

Despite Billy's movements and the jerking of his own hand, Miles steels himself, keeping his words clear.

"I like hearing you," Miles says with a twist of his grip, "I like knowing it's good for you."

"It's - " Billy's body trembles, "It's good, Miles, it's very good."

With a satisfied grin, Miles flips the both of them onto their sides, nose - to - nose. Billy wraps his arms around Miles' shoulders, mouth claiming Miles' in a harsh, desperate kiss.

"Miles," Billy breathes between, "Miles, please."

"Tell me what you want, Baby," Miles says, slowing his hand, "Go ahead, tell me."

"I'm so close," Billy's hollow eyes are closed, eyebrows knit, "Please, please, _please_ ," his hands pull at Miles' hair.

Miles reclaims Billy's mouth with a kiss, quickening his hand, letting go of his own cock to completely attend to Billy. With a soft moan muffled by Miles' mouth, Billy jerks his hips, his blunt nails scraping down and digging into the skin of Miles' back. From the corner of his eye, Miles sees the smoke reach the ceiling of the motel room, totally encasing the two in a dusted cocoon. Hot spurts flick at Miles' bare chest, and Billy bites down on Miles' bottom lip.

It's enough for Miles' to grind his hips, and come with a shaky groan. Billy's hips slow, and his breathing evens out, head collapsing into the pillows. Miles releases his hand off Billy's soft, sensitive cock, wiping his hand on the sheets. Billy plays with the waves of Miles' hair, eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his face. The smoke around them breaks, dusting into the air, before disappearing completely.

"Feeling any better?" he asks, kissing Miles.

Miles grasps Billy's hips. He rolls Billy onto his back, looming over him and pressing Billy into the mattress.

"A lot better," Miles says with a feverish kiss.


	3. desert shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT - GRINDING - HANDJOBS - BLOODPLAY (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in chapter 38, after the Blackjaw confrontation when Waylon and Miles regroup....so spoilers if u havent read the newest chapter :'(
> 
> WWWWWW ok miles is only a LITTLE bit of a freak but its ok

Waylon clamps up. The two lock eyes. Quickly, Waylon breaks the eye contact, scanning Miles' face, focusing on his mouth. He brushes his fingers through Miles' beard.

Before Miles can say anything, Waylon lurches forward, kissing him. It's rough and desperate, and Waylon pushes forward, Miles falling back into the dirt. Their hips locks, and Waylon whimpers as he grinds.

Maybe it's the adrenaline. Maybe Waylon wanted to get some physical contact in before he died. Maybe Waylon is just taking his frustrations out.

Not that Miles is going to complain.

 _I'm a freak_ , Miles thinks, being pressed into the dirt, _We're kissing, surrounded by dead bodies, frotting like a couple of horny teenagers...and I wouldn't have it any other fucking way._ Miles rocks from the ground, meeting each move of Waylon's hips. He grabs onto Waylon's thighs, feeling the muscles tense under his hands.

Waylon pulls back, sitting up, fingering the rips in Miles' shirt. His eyes are blown, lips and chin smeared with blood, panting

And _fuck_ , if it's not the hottest thing Miles has ever seen. Waylon's shirt is sticking to his torso, wet with blood and sweat. Eyes trailing down, the bulge in Waylon's jeans shoots pure want through Miles' spine.

"You didn't brush your teeth," Waylon says pointedly, like he was drawing attention to a piece of lint on Miles' shirt.

Miles blinks once. Twice.

".....Sure they didn't hit you _too_ hard in the head, Park?"

Waylon laughs, like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, like they aren't among corpses, like they aren't out in the open in broad daylight, like the joke was funny in the first place.

Miles doesn't get a chance to apologize.

Waylon leans back down, kissing Miles feverishly. He grips Miles' wrists tight, and pins them to the sides of his head.

At full attention in his jeans, Miles groans, mouth opening enough for Waylon to slip his tongue inside. _Cheeky fuck._ But Miles keeps his hands where Waylon wants them _. I could break out, if I really fuckin' wanted. He knows that, I know that._

But he likes the way Waylon holds him down. All of Waylon's weight is on his hips, brain shorting with each quick rock, overpowering his very senses with each messy kiss. Sweating from the heat, from Waylon's body so close to his, everything is too much too fast.

And Miles will be _damned_ if he doesn't enjoy every second of it.

He doesn't move as Waylon moves his hands away, planting them instead on either side of Miles' head. Miles takes this opportunity to grab Waylon's torso, letting Waylon's shirt ride up slightly, feeling the dip of his hips. The kiss breaking, Waylon almost looks sleepy, lashes fluttering over hazel eyes. More blood smeared his face, smattered on his forehead and cheeks. His lips are moving, forming soundless words.

"Park," Miles groans out, "You good?"

Waylon nods, not responding verbally, and it's almost as torturous as if Waylon had spoken. Miles strains in his pants, almost painful, each brush of Waylon's equally trapped cock sending aches through his groin.

" _Park_ \- " and Miles doesn't even try to sound less desperate for some sort of contact, urging Waylon by pulling at the waistband of his pants, "I need it, c'mon."

Waylon smiles, leaning back. He looks down at their shared pant bulges. He ruts an extra few times, as if testing some theory he's cooked up in his head, before undoing Miles' pants.

The fact that Waylon leaves himself untouched doesn't go unnoticed.

"Nuh - uh," Miles says, catching Waylon's hands before they can pull his underwear down any further, "You too. I..." he knocks his head back into the blood - stained dirt, "Fuck, I _need_ to feel you with me, Park. Please don't leave me hangin', _please," I'll beg if I fucking need to._ Anything _for it._

Waylon doesn't speak, instead responding with quick hand movements, Miles watching him sigh as he pulls himself out. He's long, just about six inches, the head flushed and leaking. Miles can't help the grin that stretches over his face.

The last time Miles bottomed was a _long_ time ago. Usually, people see his thick body, and blunt demeanor, and want him to top. Not that Miles can complain - A good time is a good time - but it's nice to get fucked than be the one fucking every once in a while. He can't stop images of Waylon on top of him, pinning him down as he fucks him open, from crossing his mind.

Hot air hits Miles' cock as Waylon pulls him out. Unable to to stop himself from moaning loud, Miles throws his head back, hands grasping at Waylon's thighs. Waylon's warm, wet touch causes Miles to buck upwards.

Waylon wastes no time, voice low, muttering to himself as he slides their cocks together, hand soaked and red.

 _Oh, I'm a freak. I'm a major Goddamn freak_ , and Miles fucking loves it.

Miles pushes himself up, one hand pressed against Waylon's shoulder. He lets out just about every swear in the book, watching Waylon jerk their cocks off in a tight, slick hand. Blood mixes with sweat and fluids. Waylon lets out an obscene moan. Miles only rips away his eyes from their laps to stare into Waylon's face.

His eyes are closed, face forward, giving Miles a beautiful view of his neck and bearded jaw. Miles can see the veins pulse in his neck. He tightens his grip on Waylon's shirt, tugging him down. Waylon plants both his hands next to Miles' head, rutting and thrusting, growling and moaning into Miles' ear. Miles tugs at the collar of Waylon's shirt, tearing it. He lays hot, searing kisses to Waylon's neck, up that very pulse on the side. His hands tangle in Waylon's hair, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back as Waylon's pace picks up, faster, harder, making Miles feel as if he'll be buried in the dirt under them.

He's chasing that high, trying to find that peak, every bit of sense in his head flowing down into his gut. _Would he fuck me just as ruthlessly as he grinds over my dick?_ He never imagined Waylon to be as aggressive as he was. It was almost like that fearful, powerless Waylon never existed, only this rough copy of him that wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it, and he wanted it _now_.

After the murder of every mercenary around, after he almost got his head caved in, after Billy saved him from brain damage. _Jesus, is he going to act like this every time I save his life?_

Some small, sick part of Miles hopes so.

It's not until Waylon bites down on Miles' shoulder, through ripped clothes and spattered gore, does Miles feel himself crashing down. His legs tense, and clamp over Waylon's midsection, bucking up, mind blanking, like a star had supernova'd behind his eyes, pulsing through his body.

Their chests pressed together, Waylon finishes with a yell that rings Miles' ears. Waylon doesn't collapse, he _drops_ onto Miles' chest, exhausted, _spent_.

Miles was sure he passed out at one point, Waylon's dead weight on top of him. Miles won't lie, it's _horribly_ comfortable, even if he was sweating his balls off. Only when he feels that weight recede does he crack an eye. A sweaty and blood - soaked Waylon Park stares down at him, eyes blown black. The sun above silhouettes him, lining him in an aura of white sunlight, surrounded by blue sky. He looks beautiful.

And it _kills_ Miles. Kills him, rips the very heart from his chest and smashes it into the dirt. Waylon didn't deserve this, all this violence, all those things that happened. _Deserves better than runnin' around with a guy like me._

Waylon sits up, quickly tucking himself back into his pants. Miles feels his stomach drop when Waylon silently stands, and quickly limps off. It left Miles laying down in the dirt, the hot sun bearing down on him. He tilts his head, and off a few yards away, on top of one of the vans, Billy sits, hollow eyes staring.

Miles rubs at his face.

 _Shit_.

 


	4. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if the next chapter of the main "To Do The Right Thing" is late......it was my both my siblings, and my birthday (June 28) these past two weeks, so I've been out and about most of the time haha ^^' sorry, next chapter should be up soon
> 
> this is a beta i wrote before the three even got to Miles' apartment. the scene was where waylon asks miles if he had any weird dreams, and he jokingly mentions he has dreams of them being intimate, and miles kinda rolls with it and misenterperates this as waylon flirting. i did like the idea of talking ab dreams, and then leading to kissing, but i wanted it to be mutual and healthy, so the core of the idea stayed in chapter 34 :)
> 
> enjoy :) thnx for reading

"Did you kiss me?"

Waylon's adrenaline spikes. _He didn't say that, he didn't,_ "What?" _He can't be serious._

"Did we kiss in your dream?" Miles leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, arms slack between his legs. His face is still calm, listening.

 _Say no, please say no_ , "Yeah. This time, we did."

Miles stands slowly. Waylon can't move, body fixed to it's spot.

 _Please sit back down, please_ , Waylon's mind screams.

"Did you like it?" Miles closes the gap, leaving one foot of space between them.

 _Stop feeding into him,_ "Yeah."

Miles enters Waylon's personal space. He's mere inches away, noses almost touching. His lifeless eyes dart from Waylon's lips, to Waylon's eyes, again and again. Everything about Miles makes Waylon's body warm and flutter, but those feelings last seconds before they're marred with guilt.

"Can I kiss you?"

Waylon's mouth falls open. He stutters, breath hitching, "I...I - " _No...yes? No...yes, kiss me, yes...or -_

Miles' head tilts, eyes fixed on Waylon's mouth. Waylon sees something that he hasn't seen in Miles so far yet. Unabashed, deep desire, tinged with loneliness.

Waylon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Yes," _He's asking nicely. It'll be fine. You'll be fine._

There's a pause, Waylon hearing nothing that isn't the blood pounding in his ears. Then he feels Miles' lips press into his. The kiss is soft, warm, closed mouth.

There's no pain, no hurt. It _still_ doesn't feel _right_.

His heart thunders in his ribcage. Eyes still closed, he feels Miles' hands lay on his shoulders.

Waylon is frozen. Half of him yearns to melt into Miles, to let himself fall. The other half panics, perched precariously on the edge of disaster. He wants this. He's _dreamed_ of this. No matter how hard he tries to will himself to react, to reciprocate, he _can't, won't, shouldn't._

Miles' hands roam up Waylon's shoulders, running down his neck and chest. Waylon tenses at the touches. He opens his eyes. All that want melts into a pit of guilt in his chest.

Miles pulls away, brown eyes blown wide.

As soon as their gazes meet, eyes locking, Miles' expression falls, as if he's made a terrible, horrible mistake. Miles pulls his hands off Waylon's shoulders. His mouth shuts, jaw clenching. His shoulders square.

Before Waylon can process anything else, Miles pushes past him. Miles walks brisk out the front door, slamming it shut.

Waylon sinks to his knees.

 

  
-

 

 

"Upshur, where are you going?"

Miles hauls ass down the stairway in his complex. He throws open the front entrance to his apartment complex, the door almost coming off of it's hinges. Billy was yelling inside his head, telling him to stop. Passerby jumped out of his way as he walks...and walks....and walks...

Miles didn't know how far he had went. He ducked into an empty alley, brick wall surrounding him, metal trashcans scattered. He grabs the nearest one, flinging it down the alley. The aluminum splintered and crumpled, scraping the wall. Miles lets blind rage lead his actions, taking garbage can after garbage can, smashing them against the concrete and the brick until sharp shards dug into his skin. The rage builds. And builds. And builds.

" _I'm a horrible excuse for a fucking_ man _,_ " he yells to himself, " _I did that, I did that to_ him _. I cornered him. He couldn't get away_."

He punches the wall of the alley, the brick cracking. He presses his forehead to the brickwork, nails digging into the rough surface.

The warm sun in shadowed by a pair of cold hands on his shoulders.

" _Don't_ \- " Miles has trouble keeping his voice low, "Don't touch me."

The hands pull away, the sound of dust shifting behind him.

He didn't feel Waylon push into the kiss. The familiar reciprocation of attraction and desire wasn't there. Waylon didn't make a sound. Miles thought him shy, too timid to touch. It was when Miles pulled back to look into Waylon's face he saw what he had done. _Fuck, he was scared of me._

_Well, he won't have to worry about anything like that ever again. I've learned my lesson. I don't make the same fucking mistake twice._


End file.
